“I know. Let’s organize, I wouldn’t want you all to miss this place. And if our schedules don’t all work out, you and Brian can still do a date night there. The restaurant is open from noon to midnight all week.”
Tracey envied Ricky and Charla. They managed to have regular date nights and they never missed a week, not even for bad weather. If it snowed or rained on a night when they scheduled a date, they would bundle up and walk to the Japanese restaurant around the corner from their home. Since they were childless and Ricky’s job as a project manager allowed him time at home each evening and on weekends, they spent lots of private time together.
Tracey eased one eye open as Charla reached into the cabinet above her to grab a bottle of shampoo. “I wish I could look forward to something as nice as date nights. Brian and I … we haven’t been consistent with it. We get out sometimes, but not as much as should.”
Charla massaged shampoo into Tracey’s hair. “Why aren’t you getting out together?”
“We get busy. You know the kids take up a lot of my time. The more activities they’re involved in, the more I have to do. And the practice keeps Brian busy.” Tracey closed her eyes again and breathed in the sweet coconut fragrance in the shampoo. “But … we need some spice I think. We need something.”
Neither of them said anything else after that. Charla finished the shampoo and prepped Tracey’s hair with deep conditioner. She placed a plastic cap around her head and guided her up out of the chair and over to the row of dryers. Tracey put her purse on the empty seat next to her and sat down under the dryer Charla pointed out to her.
But instead of switching on the dryer, Charla stood in front of Tracey for a moment. She stared in her eyes. “How’s your sex life?”
“Okay.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” Tracey directed her eyes to the floor. Sex life. When was the last time … hmm … one? No. Two weeks ago. Pathetic. Were they that busy? But if Tracey had not been feeling romantic in the previous months, then she definitely didn’t feel like doing it after she found out about Lisette.
Charla tapped her booted foot. Tracey stared back at her, but kept her lips shut. Charla sighed, then reached over and pulled the dryer hood down over Tracey’s head. She turned on the dryer, pushed a few magazines into Tracey’s hands, and scooted away.
Tracey glanced at the magazine covers, selected a few and slipped them onto the seat of the dryer beside her. She nodded off without answering the questions rattling around her head. Minutes later she jumped when Charla yanked up the dryer hood.
“Come on out sleeping beauty.”
“Thanks,” Tracey mumbled, pulling her shoulder bag off of her lap and sliding up out of the chair.
Charla rinsed out the deep conditioner then blew out Tracey’s hair. Maybe she should go on and talk to Charla about their sex life? Tracey kept her voice low because two more women had entered the shop. They waited in the plush red chairs along the wall.
“Um … what you were saying earlier … about our sex life … ” Tracey whispered as Charla’s swift hands combed through locks of her hair and snipped the ends.
“Yes …” Charla said with a long drawl.
“What sex life?”
Charla clucked her tongue.
Tracey shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“Which is how often?” Charla asked.
Tracey sighed.
Charla put her hand on her hip. “You’re coming with me next month. We’re going down to The Romance Place.”
“The Romance Place? Do I even want to know?”
“’Course you do. It’s a little place down in Westchester. They sell the usual … games, lingerie, toys, all kinds of stuff for couples—but it’s classy and discreet.”
“I’m supposed to buy what while I’m there? A lace nightie. Some candles? Silk sheets?”
“You can, but that’s not the main reason for going there. The place has an upstairs where they hold classes in the evening. They have two instructors who teach belly dance, lap dance, erotic dance, and pole dancing.” Charla said, her face lighting up brighter than a Christmas tree.
“You took the classes?” Tracey asked.
Charla nodded. “Absolutely. Gabriella helped me create my own personal lap dance routine with my own music. She even helped me pick out the clothes and the right items to decorate my bedroom to make it more romantic. I did the dance and, let me tell you, it spiced things right up.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I did it for his birthday last year and he loved it. He asks me to do it all the time.”
“Well, how often have you done it since then?”
“Once a week or so.”
Tracey whipped around in her chair. “Every week?”
“Sure. We even have a name for it. We call it the Friday night special.” Charla beamed a saucy smile.
“No wonder I can’t get you on the phone sometimes,” Tracey laughed, shaking her head. “You two are on another level.”
“What’s the point of being married if you aren’t going to have a good time? We’re having a great time.”
Tracey winced. Charla didn’t know anything about Brian and Lisette, but the comment still stung. Having fun. Being carefree. A marriage should have those moments. Tracey and Brian Jones? Definitely stuck in a rut, and oh how deep the rut seemed after hearing about her sister and brother-in-law’s escapades.
“Trace, you and me, we are going to The Romance Place and you are going to come back and blow Brian’s mind.”
“You think so?”
“Oh, I know so.”
Tracey started to tell Charla she would take her up on the offer when her phone buzzed. She reached in her bag and pulled out the device. She’d missed a call as she dozed beneath the dryer hood, and now she saw a text message from her brother Jamal.
Sis! Call me back. Urgent!
She speed-dialed him. “What’s wrong? What’s so urgent?”
“Dad’s in the hospital,” Jamal said.
“What?”
“Again.”
“For what?”
“Blood pressure. You know how he is. He doesn’t take care of himself like he should. Come pick me up. He’s at Temple.”
Tracey’s head started to throb. “How is he?”
“He’s stable for now. We’ll know more when we can talk to his doctor.”
“I’ll ring you before I get to Overbrook. Be ready.”
Tracey put the phone away. “Char … my Dad’s in the hospital.”
“Oh my goodness! How is he?”
“I don’t know. Jamal said blood pressure. He’s probably in there for observation. He’s been blessed he hasn’t had a heart attack or a stroke by now.”
“Here, let me brush the rest of this hair into a bun for you, all right. I’ll have it done in a second. You can come by later and I’ll finish it.”
“Thanks.”
All thoughts about Brian and Lisette vanished from Tracey’s mind. Her father needed her. She had no time to sit around being melancholy about two people she couldn’t control. As soon as Charla finished, Tracey jumped up, pressed two twenties into her hand, grabbed her jacket from the wall hook and hustled out the door.
7
Tracey spied Jamal pacing back and forth on the
porch as she eased the Volvo up to the curb in front of her mother’s house. Jamal’s hair had grown much longer than she’d seen him wear it in a while. It was styled as a neatly trimmed, textured afro framing his mocha-colored face, and looked great with his thick black eyebrows and mustache. Tracey started to tell him he looked nice, but she choked back the compliment when he glared at her as he climbed into the car.
“You know why you had to come pick me up? I still need to get my car fixed.”
Tracey pulled off and hea
ded down the street. “I asked you to call me back and you didn’t. I got busy and forgot about it.”
“I still need it though. My money’s funny right now. Even with my certifications, I’m only getting a little over minimum wage.”
“What about your private clients?” She remembered him telling her he could get as much as sixty dollars an hour traveling to wealthy client’s homes and training them privately on their own equipment.
“I only have two of those right now and my gym clients are dwindling. This year isn’t like last year. Last year we started a campaign for new people to come in and get ripped in time for summer. I think they cut money from the advertising budget this season.”
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Less people are there looking to work out. Plus, I get people who say they want to lose weight. Then I take them through a trial session and they don’t return.”
“I told you about pulling that boot camp routine on people. You’re not in the Army anymore. People don’t want you to make them drop and give you twenty push-ups between each exercise,” Tracey teased.
“Results. High intensity gets results.”
“Remember the guy you told to give you fifty push-ups, then three sets of mountain climbers, and then burpees — and he threw up? Didn’t he cancel his gym membership after that?”
“Anyway … I still need the loan for my transmission.”
“We can talk about that later.” Tracey shifted the topic. “So do you know yet, what’s going on with Dad?”
“He’s having trouble and he’s under observation,” Jamal sighed.
Tracey fell silent, keeping her focus on navigating the car through the city streets. In less than four hours she’d been granted her silent prayer to stop thinking about Brian’s interest in Lisette. But now concern over her father filled her mind.
She prayed silently as she stepped on the gas and sped faster into the city.
When they walked into Pernell’s hospital room, they spied him sitting up in bed watching TV. He turned and smiled wide displaying two gold teeth glittering from the side of his mouth. A faded blue hospital gown sagged on his robust body. He’d kept his watch on. Tracey recognized it as the rose gold Breitling Starliner she and Brian had given him two Christmases ago.
“Hi, Dad,” Tracey said, moving close to his bed.
“Hey, Dad,” Jamal said.
“Hey now. Here’s my kids!” he announced to his roommate, an older Asian man in the bed next to him. “Man I made some beautiful kids in my day, I’m telling you. They’re smart too.”
The man paid no attention.
Tracey sat down on the side of her father’s bed. She grabbed hold of his rough wrinkled hand dotted with brown age spots. “A stroke?”
He looked at both them with his eyes wide. A frown creased his face. He shrugged, then gave a slight nod.
“Baby girl, don’t worry about me,” he said, looking down at the bed. “I felt bad there for a minute. But I’ll be out of here in a few.”
“A stroke, huh? And you’ll be out of here soon?” In her head she ran down a list of things to ask his doctor. Questions about c-reactive proteins, cholesterol levels, blood pressure numbers, and homocysteine.
“Doc told me it was a mini-stroke. Transient attack or something,” he sighed, running a hand over his face. “Darling, this body of mine is something I gotta live with.”
“What happened this morning?” Tracey asked, clutching his hand tighter.
“I got dizzy and had a hard time getting up and moving this morning. I wish your Uncle Ray hadn’t called Jamal telling all my business. I’ll be fine.”
Stubborn. Tracey’s father had never been big on wellness. He enjoyed drinking, but Tracey never considered him an alcoholic in the same way her mother had let drinking ravage her when Tracey was a teen. She’d never seen her father drink before or while he worked and he’d been a bus driver for nearly forty years. But she’d called him enough in the evening times to know he drank after hours. He liked to spend Friday and Saturday nights at his brother’s bar in North Philly, sitting on a barstool sipping Remy Martin, letting the intoxicating liquid magically erase anything he didn’t feel like thinking about.
“Have you been seeing your doctor regularly?” Tracey asked.
Pernell looked away. “When I can.”
“What about your blood pressure meds?” Jamal questioned.
“Now I do take my pills. Every day,” Pernell insisted. “Ask your Uncle Ray.”
Tracey and Jamal glanced at each other, frustrated.
“Come on now, y’all, don’t look like that,” Pernell said.
Tracey looked back at Pernell. “Like what, Dad?”
“Like I have one foot in this hospital bed and the other one in the grave. I follow up with a specialist next week.” Pernell’s voice started out strong, but wavered as he continued. “I’m here under observation. What I gotta do later … ”
Tracey changed the subject. “Brianna has a dance recital next month. If you could manage to take care of yourself, you might be able to make it to see her dance.”
Pernell grinned. “Where’s the recital?”
“Up around our way. I’ll get you the information. She’ll dance ballet and tap.”
“Do you think she’ll be a professional dancer when she grows up?” Pernell probed.
“No. She mostly does it because her friend Jayda does it.”
“Hey, how come you didn’t tell me she had a recital?” Jamal asked.
“Lately I keep forgetting to tell all the right people.” Tracey had forgotten all about the recital when the mess with Brian started.
“It’s a shame you don’t get over to North Philly to see me and Ray. Ever since your Aunt Zee passed, seems like none of y’all can manage to come over and pass the time with me or your uncle.”
“It’s still hard for all of us. She was gone so fast,” Tracey said. Aunt Zee was Zehendra Mae Watson. She’d been married to Pernell’s brother Ray for more than thirty-five years when an aggressive form of breast cancer claimed her life three years back.
“You know I’m up there all the time,” Jamal joked.
“Well I want the kid who comes over not wanting money all the time to visit.”
Tracey and Pernell laughed as Jamal rolled his eyes and looked out the window. “Yeah, all right. I see how y’all are.”
Tracey’s heart beat fast at the thought of her father’s blood pressure not being under control. “Dad, you need to take this episode seriously. And you’re blessed Uncle Ray got you over here in time. Most times folks have these small attacks, forget about them, and then they have a full-blown stroke.” Tracey put her purse strap back on her shoulder, moved over to his bedside table and poured her father a cup of ice water from the beige plastic pitcher.
“Where’s your doctor?” she asked.
Pernell crossed his arms on his chest. “Now you don’t have to talk to him. I’ll do the right thing. I’m not a child.”
Tracey and Jamal glanced sidelong at each other again. From the look in Jamal’s eyes, their thoughts must have matched. They’d seek his doctor the minute they walked out of the hospital room.
“How long will you be here?” Tracey asked.
Pernell grimaced. “Not sure yet. Most likely for another day. Then I’m ’sposed to follow up with a neurologist.”
“Count on me taking you to that next appointment. You don’t have a choice.” She fluffed up his flat pillow and kissed him on the lips. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” he said.
A tired look settled on Pernell’s face and he didn’t talk much more. Tracey stayed close to his side, watching a court show on TV for a while. An hour passed before he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. When Pernell’s breathing grew even and he snored lightly, they tipt
oed out into the hallway, closing the room door behind them.
Jamal spoke first. “A stroke.”
Tracey echoed her brother. “A stroke.” She craned her neck around as her eyes scanned the sterile cold hallway. “I don’t care what Dad said, we are talking to his doctor.”
Jamal blew air out through his teeth. “Yeah, I’m going to find out about that now.” He turned and headed for the nurse’s station.
Left alone for a moment, Tracey dug her phone out of her purse and dialed Brian on his phone. It rang several times before going to voice mail. She hung up then entered the speed dial number for Germantown Family.
“Germantown Family Medical.”
Relief flooded her body when she heard the deep female voice on the other end of the line. “Ruthie. I’m glad it’s you.”
“Yes, can you hold for a moment?” Ruthie asked, her voice crisp and professional.
“Certainly, I … ” Tracey didn’t finish before the phone went mute. She peered down the hallway. Jamal pointed in her direction as he talked with a short Indian man with thick black hair. Tracey held her phone, leaned against the wall and waited.
Ruthie came back, but this time her voice was lower and she sounded tense. “Tracey, hi,” she said.
“Yes, I’m trying to reach Brian.”
“I figured as much.” Ruthie paused. “He’s not in.”
Tracey straightened up like someone had pricked her skin with a hot needle. “You mean he’s at the hospital?”
“No, sweetie. I mean, he left at eleven. Dan’s taking his appointments. Brian’s not available unless there’s an emergency. His specific request.”
“And … ah … ” Tracey pushed the words out of her mouth. “Is Lisette there?”
“She’s not here today, either.”
Jamal and the doctor started walking toward Tracey. She’d have to hang up.
“Thank you, Ruthie. I’ll talk with you later.”
“Everything all right?” Jamal asked as he approached.
Her heart banged in her chest like a gong and she’d broken out in a sweat, but she put on her game face. “Fine.”
Broken Together Page 5